Can't Be
by LASOS
Summary: An unexpected surprise has Leia questioning herself. Post-ROTJ HSLO


Can't Be

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's note: My first try. I'm getting back into this since a 10 year absence after middle school. Let me know what you think!

"_Stop and stare; I think I'm moving but I go nowhere; Yeah, I know that everyone gets scared; But I've become what I can't be, oh..." _

OneRepublic, "Stop and Stare"

--

I have a bad feeling about this.

(As usual.)

If there is one thing at which Han Solo has always excelled, it is hitting his target.

(Perhaps that's inappropriate?)

Ah well, it was my idea anyway. Sort of. He had been asleep for some time, sprawled out on our bed as he always does on nights when I don't join him right away. I do love to watch him when he sleeps like that. Tangled in the covers, breathing deeply, even snoring lightly. Sometimes the corner of his mouth arches upward in that patented crooked grin of his and I wonder what it is that makes him so happy in his dreams.

(Me?)

Usually I do my late-night reading in my study down the hall. The lighting is better, and Threepio can move about freely to bring me kaffe if it is so needed. But not this night. Han had just returned from an eight standard day mission. The Gorgonas of the Taurean system had recently been allowed to join the New Republic and Han was dispatched with one of our fleets on a military training mission. He does love those Alliance standard operating procedures.

(Not really.)

He never sleeps on these missions, and always comes back exhausted. But I had missed him in his absence (more so than usual, though I'll never tell) and decided to do my reading from the plush chair that sat in the rounded window of our bedchamber that overlooks Coruscant so I could feel near him even as he slept. Somewhere through the endless dialogue of Noogan trade agreements and the next day's agenda, I'd had enough. My eyelids were heavy and the thought of curling up next to Han's sleeping (snoring now) form became all too enticing.

Except that once I climbed into bed beside him, another thought became even more enticing. My naked leg brushed against his as I slid underneath the thick covers and I was consumed with the memory of the last time we touched. I woke him with the little kisses that I placed along his jawline and the corners of his mouth, and he smiled at me groggily as I moved myself on top of him.

"Hey there, Princess. Did I oversleep?"

"No. I just need a little distraction." I smiled and kissed his forehead, playing with the band of his gray undershorts. He moved his hands around my waist and then slid them beneath my nightrobe, caressing my lower back. I let out an involuntary gasp at the strong feel of his hands against my bare skin.

"Distraction, huh? What'd you have in mind?"

"Just a few thoughts. Wanted to see if we could discuss in committee."

"I've got a few thoughts of my own...What say you to bypassing the committee?" He slid the robe off my shoulders and began to kiss the exposed skin.

"I believe that would be a breach in protocol, General. Very much against New Republic SOP's," I whispered as I nibbled at the nape of his neck.

"Ah, come on, Your Worship. I've got a really great idea."

(Of course you do.)

"Mine's better."

(I'll prove it.)

"I don't think s--oh. Oh. So it is."

(Damn right, flyboy.)

I had set an alarm on the chrono for the next morning but awoke as the first light of the first sun began streaming into the chamber windows. Han lay on his side sound asleep, his arm draped across my stomach, his hair a little more mussed than usual. The blankets were in tangles around us. (Ha.) Yes, we had successfully distracted one another from doing that which had been so important mere hours ago. I smiled at my husband and brought my hands to caress his that was so warm on my body. He so often rests his hand on my lower abdomen as he sleeps. I love it. It always feels so smooth, so reassuring. He's here.

(I think it reminds him that I'm here, too.)

I stroke the back of his hand, the five pads of his fingers and his wide palm creating gentle pressure points against my skin. The effect is calming, peaceful, so welcome in these early hours.

And then there's a flutter.

And then the unease.

I have a bad feeling about this.

--

Sometimes, thinking back to all the times we have ever made love is a fun little game. It helps me pass the time in meetings. Our (and my) first time on the Falcon as the ship limped to Bespin, quiet, careful, and sweet. Furious and frenzied despite the blaster wound to my arm after the celebration on Endor. Passionate and desperate on our wedding night. Of course we have now known each other more than I can count or ever fully recall, but those are and will always remain some of my favorites.

I thought about them today when we were meeting with the Noogans. Mon gave me a funny look--I think my cheeks flushed.

(They may have flushed for that other reason, though.)

I know exactly what has happened. Chalk it up to Force sensitivity if you want, but there's no denying. Mentally, I curse that injection that I've given myself religiously every few months for years now. I hate needles. Hate them. Ever since Vader (my own father!) used them as torture aboard the first Death Star (before he slaughtered my family, my home, and my people) I have hated needles. But of course the injection is the best way to prevent this from happening, something I've never wanted, so I bit my lip and did it anyway.

(I wonder where I made the mistake?)

I go through my day terribly distracted, and I'm sure it was noticed. I was so preoccupied with my own thoughts that I was late to a working lunch meeting with Lando and forgot to address Admiral Ackbar when I passed him in the East corridor later that afternoon. I had to seek him out in his office to apologize. Lando asked me if I felt all right the after third time he asked me a question to which I didn't respond.

"I'm fine. I'm so sorry, Lando."

(Ask me again sometime. Like in a few days when they say the nausea sets in.)

This is a problem. A big problem. I don't want this and I never have. And neither has Han. His own childhood was so difficult that he would never wish that on another person. And we're just too busy for this. We have the New Republic. We travel constantly and are put into danger even more frequently than that. It would be irresponsible.

(And then there's that tiny, tiny subject of genetics. And my real father.)

Luke wants it, I think, but he's not in this relationship. I don't even think he wants it for entirely selfish reasons, like the continuance of the Jedi order. I think that he wants it because he loves us and believes that we are the perfect couple for such an addition. We talked about this once after Han and I were first married. I shared my thoughts and he shared his. He thinks that he's right and that one day I will see it the way he does.

(Will I?)

I don't want to see him today. He'd know. Immediately. Like I did. He may even know now. He's been training me the last few years in the ways of the Force and we have met everyday we're both on Coruscant. But not today. Today I call him over the commlink and make up some weak excuse about having to prepare for a big meeting. He knows I'm lying, but lets it slide.

"At least try to get your running in today."

My running. Right. One of Luke's favorite training techniques. My brother runs for kilometers and kilometers on end. He says it helps you really meditate in the Force because you can call upon it after the fifteenth kilometer or so when your lungs start to burn. He runs for hours around Coruscant with his lightsaber attached to his belt. I tried this once (sans Jedi-issued weaponry, of course) and was stalked by an Imperial supporter. Since then, I've been relegated by Republic order to this machine that Luke has dubbed a treader--this moving conveyer belt on which I run without ever really going anywhere. Of course, I am surrounded by a holofield of imagery...passing nature or the news or sports, what have you.

(It still bores me. I'm not going anywhere, dammit!)

I don't know if I'll be able to manage the running today. Perhaps a brisk walk while I prep for my meeting with Esmehan Scobee that is scheduled for the morning. I feel another little flutter as I make my way back to the apartment.

I have a bad feeling about this.

--

Han knows that something has been bothering me. I don't know how he picks up on it before he even sees me. Maybe it's having known me for seven years and being married for two of them. Maybe he's just a little bit Force-sensitive but will never, ever admit it.

(Maybe he talks to Luke everyday before he sees me in the evenings so he knows exactly what to expect.)

I don't even have to give him the look that he knows all too well when he walks in looking a little more grease-stained and disheveled than usual after a day's work on the Falcon. The look that says, "Don't ask." He doesn't ask, just kisses me sweetly and goes to shower. He doesn't even suggest that I join him.

Sometimes he knows me a little too well.

When he returns, he sets Threepio to the task of preparing our supper and sits down next to me on the largest couch of the living chamber. He turns on the holovid, but keeps it at a low volume so not to distract me.

Of course, he does anyway.

"I fixed the navcomputer on the Falcon today." He turns towards me with that patented grin. Oh how that grin can make me melt.

"Oh?" I don't want to appear too foggy. Banter. We do this all the time. I can still be on top of my game, right? "I didn't realize that fixing the navcomputer was such an oily task. Or was all of that from lunch? You do, after all, have table manners slightly better than those of a bantha."

"You think you're cute, Princess, but I know better than that." Han moves towards me and places his hands on my thighs, pulling me until I'm laying prone on the couch and his face is inches from my own.

"I don't think, General. I know."

With that, he kisses me with guarded fervor, but much more eagerly than he did when he first walked into the apartment. Perhaps he needed that bit of encouragement.

(Certainly better than coming home to a verbal onslaught, right?)

"Leia?" He mumbles, his lips still loosely pressed against mine.

I don't open my eyes. "Hmm?"

"Tell me."

Slowly I allow myself to look at my handsome husband. His face is still very near mine, his eyes are a stormy green, the color they always take when he is worried. I remember first seeing that green, a color so unique it made my breath catch in my throat. I had managed to steal a glimpse as we were frantically escaping that damned ice planet after Vader (Dad? Ugh...) and his cronies has penetrated the fortress' barriers. I thought (hoped?) that maybe there was a little more to that worry than "We need to get off this planet," perhaps something along the lines of "I need to get her away from here."

I think I was right.

Now Han's eyes are even greener than after he saw the getup Jabba had thrown me into or after I was wounded on Endor. Am I that transparent?

He moves to sit up but I catch his waist and pull him back down to lie with me. He rests his head next to mine on the Corellian silk pillow and looks me squarely in my (cowardly?) eyes.

I've dreaded this moment all day. I don't want to tell him. I don't want to see his reaction. I don't want him to see my fear, my apprehension, my anger at the situation. (Luke would say something about these feelings leading to the Dark Side, I think.) I don't want him to see how weak I really am.

Worse still, I don't want him to see that, somewhere during the day, I've started to want this. For me. For us.

"Han."

A statement. Is that it?

"Sweetheart."

"I..."

Silence. I don't think he's letting me off the hook. Fine, then.

I inhale deeply. "We...we did something last night. Something wonderful, or...or terrible. Or maybe both."

He grins.

"Hey, I may have been half-awake, but I'm damn sure it wasn't _terrible_."

I let out an involuntary laugh and feel myself relax a little in his arms. He never breaks his lock on my eyes, but he begins to move his arm from my shoulder down my torso. He finds the tether of my gown and slowly loosens it, just enough, just until his hand finds the flesh of my lower belly. He rests his hand there and I see the expression in his eyes change ever so slightly.

He gets it.

(Sometimes, that man is smarter than I give him credit.)

I feel myself nod, but he is kissing me before the second short bob of my head.

He's happy.

No. There's that toothy crooked grin of his. The really big one. The one I love even more than the sly smile.

He's thrilled.

(And maybe a little proud of himself.)

--

I have a bad feeling about this.

I woke up before my alarm again this morning. But this time, it's not the flutter. Han's hand is again resting across my abdomen. I don't think it left there all night. He wanted to see if he could feel it, the little flutter the way I could.

Except now I don't.

I'm so cold now. And I feel so strange, so incredibly...empty.

(I don't think that's a good sign.)

I shut my eyes against the morning rays and will myself to feel it again. I need to feel it again, I need to know it's still there.

I feel nothing.

"Han?"

I don't mean to say it, not at all. I don't want to worry him. But it's too late. My own voice escapes my mouth in an uneasy quiver and he snaps awake.

"Leia? What's wrong?"

I feel like there is a Hutt sitting on my chest. Suddenly, I can't think, I can't breathe. What has happened to me? I sit up, hoping the change in position will allow me to draw more air into my lungs. I can only imagine the expression on my face as I turn to look at him. It must be reflected in his own panicked eyes and furrowed brow.

"I don't know."

--

I've never liked going to the medical bay even before I developed my (not-so-irrational) fear of syringes. It's so stark, so clean, so white, so bright, so cold. I've never had a friendly emdee or medical droid, even when my father had them on retainer on Alderaan and our ships. They've always been so rushed, so matter-of-fact. Never interested in how I felt and only interested in treating what was wrong. Shove a needle in my arm and be done with it.

This particular medical droid, however, seems very empathic. It worries me. I think it worries Han too because he draws me in closer to him every time the silver thing enters and leaves the room. More blood drawn here, more tests run there.

I just want an answer.

(Or do I?)

I have a theory, but I won't tell Han. I think they, like I, know exactly what has happened. They just want to know why so we can prevent it in the future.

(I should be appreciative of this.)

And then comes my answer. The droid hands me a datapad with my results and asks if I want them explained.

I don't.

But thank you.

To see it in writing is perhaps one of the most difficult things I've ever witnessed, which surprises me a little because I've witnessed so many horrible, horrible things. But few were as intensely personal as this. The destruction of Alderaan, Han being frozen in carbonite, Luke as he dangled from the antenna of the Cloud City. They were more horrible and perhaps more personal. But those were all betrayals done by someone else (my father...), someone more sinister. But not here.

I have betrayed myself.

"The bloodwork of Leia Organa Solo reveals that a pregnancy had, in fact, occurred but was spontaneously terminated due to a random and irreversible genetic abnormality."

Oh.

(That's it? I've been here for hours.)

I swear on all things that are good, I am married to the most wonderful man in the galaxy. Scruffiest, yes, but also the most wonderful. He knows me so well. He knows that I don't want to talk about this right now, that I'm not even ready to fully acknowledge it. He just kisses my forehead, takes my hand, and leads me gently out of the medical bay. We don't need words.

(It doesn't occur to me that he might be hurting too.)

--

Luke is standing outside of our apartment when we reach it. I missed two meetings this morning without word to anybody and Han has missed at least one. The galaxy is probably up in arms over our absence. I'm sure Mon sent Luke to find us.

(Maybe they thought we were enjoying another one of our mornings in?)

My brother begins to speak and then pauses, taking in our demeanor. We must be a sight. His expression slowly changes. I see the emotions move through his eyes. Worry. Fear. Realization.

He knows.

"Oh, Leia, Han. I'm so sorry."

He moves towards me and folds me in his arms. I stand there, unable to move for a moment, before finally stretching my arms to embrace him back. When I eventually let go, he embraces my husband with the same empathy. Then we stand there, the three of us, silent, motionless, unable to speak.

I feel as though a part of me has died.

Finally, Han places his palm on the scanner and lets us into the apartment. Threepio is quietly cleaning the kitchen and Luke asks the droid if he would mind accompanying Artoo on a short errand. Goldenrod (Goldenrod? I sound like my husband.) lights up as much as a droid can and scurries out to join his little friend. And we are alone again, sitting in our living quarters, still and silent.

The sunlight of the early morning had given way to angry black clouds sometime while we were stuck in the medical bay, and now torrential rain is beating against the large round windows as if it is trying to break in and drown me. I wonder if I should let it. I stare intently at the tempest and am surprised when lightning streaks across the sky, followed by a hostile clap of thunder. But what startles me most is my brother's voice.

"Leia, it's not your fault."

I focus my attention away from the storm outside and back on the men in the room, both of whom are watching me with unwavering stares. Han's eyes tell me he is complete agreement with Luke, but it does little to help.

"I didn't want it. Not at first."

I didn't mean to say it. The words slipped from my mouth and I was appalled at how selfish and shallow they sounded as the echoed across the walls of the apartment. How could I say something like that? How could I feel that way? What horrible person doesn't want their own baby?

I feel like I willed myself into a miscarriage.

"No you didn't."

God dammit, Luke. Get out of my head.

He smiles a little at that.

"I can't help it."

"Hey now, you two. It's great that you've got your own secret unspoken language and all, but how about including me a little, huh?"

I look at my husband. His grin is there, but there is pain in his eyes.

Oh.

Luke moves to get up and squeezes my shoulder.

"I'll come back a little later when you feel up to talking."

I manage to smile at my brother.

"I think that we'd like that, Luke. Would you like to join us for dinner?"

"Don't do any cooking. I'll bring it over for us."

Han nods.

"As long as you don't do any cooking either, Kid."

"Duly noted," Luke says, smiling, before turning and leaving the apartment. The door slides closed quietly behind him, once again leaving us to the sound of angry rain.

I can't look at Han. I can't. I can't bear to see that hurt.

He draws me into his arms and brings a hand to my chin, lifting my face to his. I shut my eyes. I will not look.

"Leia..."

His whisper is barely audible. It is more a breath against my cheek than a word that has escaped his lips. It wills me, begs me to look at him.

I open my eyes to meet his. There is that green again, but deeper. His eyes are so green that they're almost black. The color scares me. I've never seen it, not in seven years of knowing him so well.

He's sad. He's aching. I can feel his soul crying out in pain.

(Can he feel mine?)

And then I see it. A tear. Just one, solitary, shimmering drop at the corner of his eye, threatening to streak down his face.

I have never seen this man cry.

That does it for me. The sight of that one tear, the pain in his eyes, the gentle caress of his touch...

My own tears begin to fall before I even realize that I want to cry. And they won't stop. My breath catches in my chest for the second time today and I find myself gasping for air between the sobs. Han draws me in closer still and I bring my arms around his neck, desperately seeking comfort and just as desperately trying to offer it. He strokes my back and kisses my hair, but never once does he try to quiet me.

(I hate that he gets to see me this vulnerable.)

I mumble something about feeling so stupid for reacting this way, but my dear husband gently reminds me that we have essentially lost a child. As hard as that is to hear, it puts my mind at ease, and even encourages me a little. If I (we) feel this way after a day...then perhaps I (we) am (are) cut out for this. After a while, my face feels hot from all the tears and we decide to move to the shower and then onto the cursed bed where this all began. We have both calmed. The shock as worn off and the grief has begun to settle, leaving a hollow feeling in my soul that I think Han is trying to mend by holding me tightly against him. I feel as though nothing can get in. Or out.

(Does he?)

The rain is still beating against the windows as the chrono announces the time and we realize we need to begin to ready ourselves for dinner. Han catches my wrist as I move off the bed towards the closet and I turn to face him. There is a small smile dancing across his lips and the gold flecks playing in the green of his eyes tells me there is a smile in his heart as well. The sight itself lightens my mood a little, and I cannot help but offer a small grin in return.

"Hey, Princess?"

"Hey, General."

He tugs my wrist a little to bring my body back on top of his. With his free hand, he caresses my face and brings my mouth to join his in the gentlest (and somehow most suggestive, how does he do that?) of kisses.

"Wanna try again?"

I have a bad feeling about this.

(But in a really, really good way.)

--


End file.
